


Super speedy fanfiction challenge

by 100PercentRebelTimeLady



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15806958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100PercentRebelTimeLady/pseuds/100PercentRebelTimeLady
Summary: A collection of short Whouffaldi one-shots I wrote in response to a series of prompts on tumblr for my super speedy fanfiction challenge a while ago. These have been lying around on my tumblr for a while and I thought I'd publish them here for anyone who hasn't read them and may be interested in doing so. This is quite a random collection of stories, so don't expect any sort of continuity between one and the next!





	1. One Last Hurrah

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I have been dying to know how the Doctor convinced Clara to go on one last hurrah with him. I am betting that was one heck of a hail Mary talk. 
> 
> Canon-compliant. Set between Kill the Moon and Mummy on the Orient Express.

It’s been approximately half an hour since Clara walked out of the TARDIS and told him to clear off, and already the Doctor misses her. He misses her chatter whilst he tinkers with the console in an attempt to distract himself, he misses the smile she gives him when he tells her where they’ve landed this time, or the one she flashes him when she thinks he can’t see her looking. He misses the way she perches herself on the edge of the TARDIS console during one of his rambling speeches, and the way her brow furrows in confusion because his thoughts don’t really make sense to anyone but him.

He starts to wonder whether she truly meant for him to go away for good. Then he thinks to himself that he’s entering into the territory of wishful thinking.

Somehow it’s not enough to stop him from entering the coordinates for Clara’s house into the navigation system. His hand hovers over the take-off lever, but he doesn’t pull it down. He allows his fingers to trace the cold metal and suddenly he’s remembering the occasions on which Clara has held the lever in her grasp. In his head he can see her hands – small and dainty with fingers that seem to intertwine almost unbearably perfectly with his own. If he tries hard enough, he can almost imagine the feel of her hand in his instead of the cold metal of the lever. It’s that thought that has him pulling it down and sending the TARDIS into flight.

When he lands, he doubts his decision to come back to her. If he’s gotten the coordinates right, it’s been a week since he left her behind. He hopes she’s had the time she needs to forgive his mistake, but there’s still that niggling voice in the back of his head that tells him he’s ruined things for good this time. He silences it with a purposeful stride in the direction of the door.

Outside the TARDIS it’s dark. He’s in an alleyway around the corner from Clara’s house because he didn’t want to materialise in her line of sight in case he changed his mind. He reminds himself that there’s still time to do just that, but it’s a thought he silences as quickly as it came. At the very least, he has to try. He can’t go back to the loneliness of his TARDIS without trying.

The door to Clara’s house is in front of him before he realises he’s walking there. His mind is a mess of thoughts and emotions that leave him distanced from the rest of the world. His hand doesn’t seem to belong to him as it reaches out and knocks firmly on her door. Normally he isn’t one for knocking, but he has the presence of mind to acknowledge the notion that barging into her home unannounced is far from the way to go about things this time round.

A minute passes and there’s still no answer. The Doctor immediately jumps to the worst conclusions. If it isn’t she hates me so much that she can’t even stomach the sight of me anymore, it’s she’s probably too busy with Danny to even bother answering the door.

He feels like a bit of an idiot when he hears the door open just as he’s turning away to head back to the TARDIS. A tired-looking, slightly dishevelled Clara is illuminated by the light from her hallway. When he glances down at the pyjamas she’s wearing, it dawns on him that the reason it’s dark outside is because it’s the middle of the night. And the reason Clara took so long to answer the door is because she was asleep.

 

“What the bloody hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” She hisses the question in attempt to keep her voice down. He has to stop himself from telling her to mind her language. Suddenly he wants to run and hide because this doesn’t seem like such a good idea after all.

“I came to talk, Clara… the middle of the night thing was just an unfortunate result of a navigational error.” He kept his voice soft in contrast to hers, and made a mental note to have words with the TARDIS about her inability to take him anywhere he wanted to be at the time he actually wanted to be there later.

“I thought I made my feelings quite clear earlier.” There’s a slight waver in her voice, but he thinks he might be imagining it. Then he picks up on the word ‘earlier’.

“Clara… how long has it been since I left?”

“About eight hours.”

He thinks that he’s definitely having words with the TARDIS later. “Oh. Well if it’s any consolation I had been aiming for a week… and er… not the middle of the night.” He has the decency to look sheepish.

“It’s not.” She answers bluntly, and for a minute he wonders whether he actually has a hope in hell of talking her round. Then she takes a step to the side. “But I suppose you’d better come in anyway.”

It’s definitely a start. He doesn’t need any further invitation before he’s climbing the stairs up to her house. The door shuts behind him and he hears Clara follow behind.

The Doctor is usually one for making himself at home, but this time he can do little more than hover in the vicinity of the sofa. He isn’t particularly accustomed to making apologetic speeches.

“Well, if you want to talk – talk.” Clara encourages with a wave of her hand, before folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the side of the bookcase pressed up against the opposite wall.

“Right- yes- well… let me just say that I completely respect your decision to never want to see me again, I can tell you now you aren’t the first person to grow sick of the sight of me, but just hear me out first.” He’s pacing now. It’s not a conscious motion, but it helps to focus his thoughts into something intelligible. “You have to believe me when I say that I would never deliberately patronise you. Whatever I might say… whatever I might do… I’ll always have the upmost respect for you.” He’s stopped now and his eyes on hers. “Because you deserve to be respected, Clara. You only have to take one look at you to know that.” There’s something of a smile on his lips, but it’s weaker than he’d like it to be.

“Doctor…” He holds a hand up to stop her before she can continue.

“Don’t. Just hear me out.” He reiterates and tries to get back on his train of thought. “You’re brilliant, Clara; you always have been. And I know I act like an idiot, and I say the wrong things and make stupid mistakes… I know I’m not a good man, and I know I’m a hell of a lot further away from being good enough to deserve you, but- well… isn’t everything we’ve been through enough to warrant a real goodbye?”

She’s staring at him now. There’s a look on her face that he can’t quite read, but he holds out hope because she hasn’t told him to shut up already. “What are you suggesting?”

He smiles now, because he knows he’s got her. “One last hurrah.”


	2. Thoughts Intertwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Doctor does a psychic link with Clara because he thinks Missy has been inside her head, and they see glimpses of each other's lives and into their true emotions.
> 
> Set after Death in Heaven.

“I’m sorry, Clara. I know you’ve been through a lot, but there’s just something I have to know.” She looks up at him in question, and he feels a pang of guilt at the broken look in her eyes as they meet with his. It’s enough to make him briefly wish that it had been him in that cyber suit instead of Danny. He wonders whether Clara would have looked as helpless as she does now.

“It won’t take a minute, promise.” He adds with the ghost of what he hopes to be a re-assuring smile. He doesn’t forewarn her of his intentions in case his fears over Missy’s involvement in her head turn out to be true. Clara doesn’t move to argue, and he takes it as a go-ahead.

His hands are gentle as they come up towards her head. He thinks that this is the first time he’s touched her face in this new body, but he doesn’t give himself time to dwell on the thought. When his fingers settle on her temples, he can’t keep his palms from cupping her cheeks. He counts himself lucky that he has to close his eyes to initiate the psychic link.

At the forefront of her mind is a thick cloud of grief. It’s an expected discovery, but that doesn’t prepare him for the sheer intensity of her sadness. It hurts all the more when he thinks that there’s nothing he can do to ease her pain. _Focus, Doctor._

He pushes past the wall of grief and delves deeper into her thoughts. He looks for Missy, and finds a mess of hatred and anger – emotions he knows only too well himself. There’s Danny again, and then he’s watching Clara’s hand shake as she aims the vaporizer at the Time Lady. He sees himself take it off of her to do the dead himself. He watches as he sacrifices his sense of morality for the sake of preserving hers. It’s a scene he can recall just as vividly in his own head, but this time there’s a rush of unfamiliar emotion. It takes him a moment to put his finger on it, but when he does it’s almost enough to startle him out of her thoughts – _affection._

The Doctor isn’t an idiot – well, he is, but not in every sense of the word – he knows that he’s important to Clara. What he hadn’t known until now was just how deep that importance ran. With his mind drifting from the task at hand, he starts to bring up thoughts and memories revolving around himself.

Suddenly they’re in the TARDIS and he’s pacing around the console, arms flailing about as he talks about something she’s apparently not listening to. He’s almost offended until he feels the affection radiating off of her in waves. She’s amused, watching him express himself with such enthusiasm. It’s the tiny details that she notices. She watches the way his coat swirls to reveal the red lining underneath as he spins (it’s something she secretly loves about his new clothing), and the way his fingers clench and unfurl in a way that’s almost mesmerizingly elegant. She notes the slightly dishevelled state of his short grey hair and wonders to herself what it might feel like to run her fingers through it. Her eyes drift down to the curve of his backside, and now he’s blushing at her train of thought. He hears Clara – the present Clara- laugh in his head.

Now they’re stood in Clara’s school and Danny’s there too. The Doctor watches as the soldier brushes her hair away from her face as he talks, and Clara grins like a Cheshire cat. There’s an overwhelming feeling of jealousy that feels something akin to a blade between his ribs. Then it dawns on him that these are no longer Clara’s thoughts. An image of him gazing down at her sleeping with her head in his lap on the TARDIS flashes across his mind before he takes a hasty step away from Clara to break the psychic link.

She’s staring at him silently when he opens his eyes. He thinks she might say something, but several seconds pass and the silence draws out. It’s when he finally opens his mouth to try to steer them away from the awkward topic of their feelings for each other that she reaches out to place her hand on his cheek. The softness of her skin against his is enough to have him closing his mouth again as he stares down at her with slightly widened eyes. It’s only now he notes the state of disarray that Clara has put his head into, but it’s nothing compared to the turmoil of thoughts and emotions that follow as she lifts herself up to press her lips against his.


	3. Stick Insects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A fic where timey-wimey stuff happens and Twelve and Clara (who are completely in love) end up in the same place as the past Doctors and companions and they're like 'old man how did you get such a hot companion'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately as I had to keep it short, only the tenth Doctor and Donna managed to make an appearance, but hopefully it makes for an enjoyable read anyway!

“Is that really what I look like in the future?” The tenth incarnation of the Doctor asks in slight alarm as he eyes his twelfth body dubiously.

From somewhere behind him, Donna advances. “Do you ever put on weight? Honestly, it’s like a stick insect in a magician’s costume.” She casts a glance sideways towards her version of the Doctor. “As if you aren’t skinny enough. This one looks like he’d blow away in a gust of wind.”

“Do you mind?” The twelfth doctor responds incredulously in his low Scottish drawl. Then he turns to his companion at his side “Clara, tell them.” He sounds like a whining school child, and Clara can’t help but laugh. The Doctor doesn’t find it quite so funny.

“Don’t listen to them. They haven’t seen what’s underneath the magician’s outfit.” She reassures him with a cheeky smirk and a deliberate run of her hand over his chest. All it does is cause a blush to rise to the Doctor’s cheeks.

“Clara!” He admonishes in his embarrassment. Then he glances down at his attire as if to double-check what he’s wearing. “And this is not a magician’s outfit!”

“Oh it so is. A jacket like that is only fit for sawing people in half.” Donna chips in with a laugh. The Doctor looks affronted and glances towards Clara for support. She simply shrugs her shoulders with a slight smile as if to agree.

“You told me you thought it was sexy!” The Doctor blurts out without really thinking.

“Pah!” Is all Donna manages to get out before descending into laughter. Clara can’t help but join in, and the Doctor is suddenly doing a very good impression of a kicked silver-haired puppy.

“I can’t believe I get so old.” The tenth Doctor pipes up in disbelief. Donna gives him a patronising pat on the arm, which he ignores and takes a step forward to examine the twelfth version of himself critically. “Look at all the lines… I’m like a soggy old rag that’s been hung out to dry for the past century.”

The twelfth Doctor rolls his eyes. “I’d forgotten how insufferably vain I used to be.” He remarks dryly.

The tenth Doctor ignores him in favour of turning his attention to Clara. “Clara… did he bribe you into continuing to travel with him after her regenerated?” He asks as he leans in conspiratorially.

Clara laughs and shakes her head. Then her eyes glance up towards her Doctor. “No… I could never leave him.” She insists with an affectionate smile.

“You drugged her, didn’t you?” The tenth Doctor searches for an explanation as to how the twelfth managed to win the heart of a woman so much younger and prettier than himself. Donna’s hand is suddenly on his arm, tugging him out of the other Doctor’s personal space.

“Would you stop it? Not everyone wants a bean pole with an unruly mop of brown hair. Clara might prefer her stick insects with a dusting of silver instead.” Donna can’t quite comprehend how anyone in their right mind could find any one of the Doctor’s incarnations attractive. As far as she’s concerned, he’s far too much of an idiot in a silly blue box for that. “No offense, of course Clara. Personally I don’t see what anyone sees in either of them. I think people only fancy him out of pity.” She remarks with a tilt of her head towards the tenth Doctor. He huffs indignantly.

“Nobody fancies me out of pity! Remember Martha? She fancied me. Couldn’t keep her eyes off of me.” He responds with a slightly smug smirk. He doesn’t mention Rose because to do so would bring up a wave of memories and emotions he does well to try to forget.

“Oh please, Martha was seduced by your silly blue box. She soon saw sense.” Donna quips back with a good-natured roll of her eyes.

“The TARDIS is not silly!” Both Doctors shout indignantly in unison.

Clara leans over and stage whispers to Donna: “Ignore him. He’s weirdly protective over his time machine. He actually offered to leave me alone with it one time so we could ‘bond’.” There’s an outburst of giggling from them both as both Doctors stare on in confusion.

“What did you just say?” The twelfth regeneration demands in his Glaswegian drawl.

“Nothing- nothing at all.” Clara reassures him between giggles.

“Does he still stroke bits of the console?” Donna whispers in her ear. Another burst of laughter ensues.

“All the time. They have these private conversations, and I’m just stood there feeling like some kind of third wheel.” Clara responds in a hushed tone. Then they’re descending into fits of giggles again.

“Okay, seriously. What exactly is so funny?” The tenth Doctor demands in what he thinks is an authoritative voice. The twelfth version of himself leans towards him to mutter: “I think they’re making fun of us.”

Clara and Donna turn to eye both of the Doctors in unison, and promptly burst into hysterics all over again.


	4. Spin Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Workplace AU Clara is the new boss and has a thing for silver foxes.

It’s her first day on the job, and Clara feels akin to a goldfish being thrown into a tank of sharks. The political industry is notoriously male-dominated, and her new workplace is no exception. Her old office had been home to one other woman; the secretary. Over at number 10, the only other female seems to be the cleaner. She tries not to think about how infuriatingly sexist the whole thing is.

Prior to Alan’s resignation, she had been a relatively unknown face within the party. Most people had heard her name thrown around in passing, but she had never been one for striding into the limelight – until now, of course. With the Prime Minister gone, the entire party had been thrown into disarray, and she had somehow been conveniently placed to pick up the pieces. She’d heard something about another female prime minister being good for ‘reeling in the votes’ whispered in the woodwork, but it was something she’d chosen to ignore. This is her time to shine and she’s not going to let anything get in her way of that.

“Miss Oswald…” A voice jumps her out of her reverie and she sits bolt upright in her seat behind her desk. The sight that greets her is a tall, slender silver-haired man with a wad of paperwork tucked under one arm. He catches her surprised look and raises one prominent eyebrow (Clara thinks that his eyebrows are practically a work of art). “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“What?” She blurts out after catching herself staring. “No, absolutely not.” She corrects herself and tries to regain some sort of composure. “Just, you know… settling in.” There’s a smile on her lips, but it’s forced and she thinks that she probably just looks insane. “The Doctor, isn’t it?” There. That sounded relatively normal.

He watches her without speaking for a moment longer, his gaze piercing as it fixes with her own, then moves to take up the seat in front of her desk. “Marvellous.” He responds with a slightly lopsided smile and she’s embarrassed to find her thoughts wandering to matters not relevant to her role as prime minister. She straightens up in her seat and forces herself to focus on his words as he speaks. “Now, I trust you already know what my job entails.”

Of course she knows who the Doctor is. Granted, she’s never actually seen him face-to-face until this very moment, but everybody and their dog has heard of the infamous spin doctor. She had only been given two pieces of advice in regards to the man: always call him the Doctor, and never get on his bad side. Clara thinks that those eyebrows could certainly give someone a stern telling off. “Of course. You’re the infamous spin doctor.”

“Infamous?” That eyebrow is up again, and it’s accompanied by a ghost of a smirk this time. Clara curses herself for her weakness for silver foxes. She thinks to herself that she was doomed from the moment he walked in. “I’m flattered.” The Doctor adds with a more prominent smirk. She thinks she knows a few ways she could wipe it off of his face.

“Quite rightly. I hear you’re something of a force to be reckoned with.” Clara leans forward to rest her chin on her hands on her desk as she asks the question. _Did I seriously just flirt with him?_ Sometimes she wishes her mouth would consult with her brain before deciding to speak.

“You don’t know the half of it.” And there’s a glint in his eyes that makes her think he’s flirting back. Suddenly the temperature in the room seems to spike several degrees.

When she finds herself staring without responding for several moments, she clears her throat and straightens up slightly. “Right. Er… sorry, where were we?” She knows she sounds like an idiot, and the rumble of his laughter only confirms her assumption.

“I’m really just here to help you prepare your speech for this afternoon.” He answers as he reclines ever so slightly in his chair.

Clara feels her eyes widen. “What speech?” She asks in mild alarm.

The Doctor’s expression suddenly turns stern. “You mean they haven’t told you?” She thinks he already knows the answer, but he asks to clarify anyway. Clara only shakes her head dumbly in reply. It’s obviously not the answer he wants to hear as he slams the paperwork in his hand against the arm of his seat. She finds herself jumping at his sudden outburst of anger, and oddly turned on to match. “Jesus Christ, those idiots can’t do anything right.” He hisses irritably. Then he’s climbing to his feet, and Clara can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment at the thought of him leaving her office.

“Clara, wait right here – I’ll be back. I’ve just got to go shout at a couple of morons.” The Doctor barks by way of goodbye. Then he’s striding out of her office and she suddenly feels a pang of sympathy for whoever’s about to be on the receiving end of his wrath. However, it’s quickly pushed to one side when she realises he just called her by her first name. She thinks that her name has never sounded better than it did in his low Scottish drawl.

When the door clicks shut behind him, Clara wonders whether there’s an acceptable way to ask a member of your party to bend you over your desk and fuck you senseless.


	5. Dear Santa Claus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clara finds a grumpy Doctor wrapped up under her Christmas tree and wants an explanation
> 
> Set after Death in Heaven

It’s still dark when Clara wakes up on Christmas morning. Lately she’s been having trouble sleeping, and the sleep she does get is fraught with nightmares. More often than not, she finds herself sat bolt upright in her bed in the middle of the night, shaking and crying as the realisation dawns on her that she’s never going to see Danny or the Doctor again.

Christmas morning suddenly doesn’t seem so exciting anymore. She debates trying to go back to sleep for lack of anything better to do, before coming to the realisation that she probably has about as much hope of that as she does of building her own time machine and heading off to find the Doctor. Whether it’s the time of year that’s causing an increased pang of loneliness, or just another particularly bad day for her mental health, Clara finds herself wishing that she’d never lied to the Doctor about Danny in the first place.

The air in her bedroom is cold when she finally pushes herself out from underneath her duvet and she reaches for her red fluffy dressing gown to fend off the chill. She toes her feet into her slippers and heads out of her bedroom. The living room is descended in darkness and she fumbles around on the wall for the light switch. Once the room is illuminated, Clara finds herself staring wide-eyed at the Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

“Clara Oswald don’t you dare laugh.” His Scottish accent is thick and gruff as he scowls grumpily from his position by the Christmas tree. Despite her shock at seeing him, it’s a difficult task not to double over with laughter at the sight of the doctor wound in tinsel with a bow perched on top of his head.

“What-,” She began, choking back a laugh. “What’s going on, Doctor? Why are you under my tree, and… wrapped in tinsel.” She’s sniggering now in spite of the misery she’s had to cope with in his absence.

“Ask Santa.” He bites out through clenched teeth. She wonders if he’s gone as mad as she has in her absence, but it doesn’t seem likely.

“Santa? I thought he wasn’t-,”

“Real?” The Doctor interrupts. “Oh he isn’t. I don’t know who this man really was, but he dressed himself in the traditional garb of ‘Father Christmas’ and saw it fit to leave me in this state underneath your ghastly tree.”

“My tree is not ghastly!” She can’t help but blurt out. Then she regains her grip on the situation and finds herself smiling down at the Doctor. “I put your name on the top of my Christmas list as a joke, you know.” He stares up at her in confusion, so she continues. “When I was little… every year I’d write a Christmas list and give it to my mum to send off to ‘Santa’. Of course I quickly grew up and found out that Santa wasn’t real at all… but after she died, it just became something of a ritual to write a list for her every year. I’d drop it into the post box down the road in an envelope with the name ‘Santa’ scribbled on the front. Nothing ever came of it of course…” She pauses and meets the Doctor’s gaze again. “Until now.”

The Doctor is staring up at her with an unreadable expression, but she notes that it’s decidedly less grumpy than it had been before. After a moment of silence, he clears his throat. “Help me out of this stuff, would you?” He pleads with both his eyes and his voice.

Clara hesitates with a slightly cheeky smile. “I don’t know… I think I rather like you like this.” She remarks as she moves to lean against the wall by the tree.

“Clara.” The Doctor growls in warning, rolling the ‘r’ in her name. “This isn’t funny.”

“On the contrary, Doctor, I think it’s hilarious.” She’s deliberately messing with him now, and the amusement she gets from his sulky exterior is enough to push aside her darker emotions for the time being.

“Just help me up.” He orders in what he probably thinks to be his most authoritative voice. After a beat he adds: _“Please.”_

She watches him for a moment longer as she toys with a strand of her hair. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

“Because…” The Doctor looks away, hesitating for a moment. “I have to give you your Christmas present.”

“I thought _you_ were my Christmas present?”

“Yes, well… there’s more… just – oh for Christ sake Clara, just untie me!” At his outburst, Clara thinks she’s tormented him for long enough. Slowly, she crouches down and reaches out to begin untangling the tinsel from around his body.

“Can I leave the bow? I think it suits you.” She teases with a grin.

 _“No.”_ It’s a tone that doesn’t really invite arguments.

“Spoil sport.” She sticks her tongue out at him as she unwinds the last of the tinsel from around his wrists. Then with one hand she reluctantly plucks the bow from the top of his head. “There. All better.” She’s eye level with him where he’s sat on the ground, and there’s a moment during which she has the urge to reach out and cup his cheek – partly to check that he’s actually there and not just another figment of her imagination. He breaks the stare and clambers to his feet before she has chance to.

“Come on. Up.” He demands with a motion of his hand. She regards him with her brow furrowed in confusion, but after a beat she does as she’s told and stands up slowly. They stare at each other in silence, and then the Doctor surprises her by stepping forwards and winding his arms around her tightly.

“Merry Christmas, Clara. I’ve missed you.” He breathes softly in her ear.


	6. Importance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Twelve/Clara: He helps her grieve? (and/) or: Twelve and Clara - After the Storm

He’s lying underneath the TARDIS console tinkering with the navigation system when he hears her. It’s rare for the Doctor to work in silence, but somehow he doesn’t feel like talking to himself or his ship after today’s events. Besides, if he’d been chattering away to himself then he doubts he’d have been able to hear the faint sounds of her sobs from down one of the TARDIS corridors.

He climbs out from underneath the console in an instant, a frown fixed to his lips as he removes his goggles from his face. The Doctor has never been very good with crying women. Other people’s emotions tended to leave him feeling awkward and uncomfortable. Clara’s tears are always a million times harder to handle because it hurts both of his hearts in equal measures to know that he can’t do anything to help. It’s still not enough to prevent him from wanting to try.

The TARDIS has been helpful for the first time in a long while and relocated Clara’s room to within two doors of the console room. Somehow the ship must have known that his companion would need his attention whilst she was staying on board.

From the very beginning, Clara had insisted that she wasn’t going to live on the TARDIS, and he’d respected her decision, but after Danny’s death she’d proclaimed that she didn’t want to be alone and he’d offered up a room within his home for her to stay in. He hadn’t said it, but he’d be more than fine if she chose to take up residence permanently.

From directly outside her bedroom, her sobs are louder and more violent. From the slightly muffled tone, he can tell she’s trying to keep the noise down and he briefly wonders if she doesn’t want him to hear her. It’s enough to give him pause as his fingers settle around the handle, but he puts it down to her false belief that he’d find her sorrow to be a burden.

“Clara?” He calls out quietly as he peers around the edge of the door. Her face is buried in the pillow on her bed and she jumps at the sound of his voice. He suddenly feels guilty for not thinking to knock.

“Doctor-,” She blurts out as she obviously tries to regain her composure. One hand comes up to wipe at the tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Sorry- I was just- well… Danny… and…” The rest of the sentence doesn’t come because she’s overcome by sobs.

The Doctor is by her side in a heartbeat. He pushes his own discomforts over physical affection to one side and winds his arms around her shaking form because some things are more important than his own feelings. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.” There’s a softness to his voice that he hadn’t been quite sure he was capable of as his hand comes up to stroke the length of her hair in soothing motions.

“It hurts, Doctor-,” she exclaims into his chest between sobs. “It just hurts so much.”

It damn near kills him to see her wreaked with such agony. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d upped and regenerated right there and then from the sheer pain of watching Clara crumble to pieces in his arms. “I know, Clara. I know.” His voice still holds that same soft, soothing tone. “But it’ll get better, I promise you.” He lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Time heals. You won’t ever forget, but the pain will fade until it doesn’t hurt to simply breathe any longer.” He’s speaking from experience, of course. With everyone he’s loved and lost over the years, the Doctor is no stranger to grief.

Clara sniffs and buries her head further into his chest. “I want him back, Doctor. He didn’t deserve to die.”

There’s a lump in his throat now, but he swallows it. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind is an idea – a small, potential chance of Danny finding a way to come back again. It’s not what he wants of course – what he wants is something he only admits to when he’s alone at night and there’s no one to hear his longing – but if it spares Clara from her pain then he’ll go to the end of the universe and back to bring back the man she loves.

“Then we’ll find a way to bring him back. Somehow.” _Some things are more important than your own feelings, he reminds himself._


	7. The Alden Centre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: After the Doctor and Clara parted ways in Death in Heaven, Clara couldn't cope with her losses and has been committed to an asylum (I'll let you choose the exact circumstances). After searching for her, the Doctor finally locates her and is forced to deal with the guild of being part of the reason she's there. Can the Doctor bring the Clara he knows and loves back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favourite of all the prompts to write, even if it is a little heart-breaking.

The TARDIS materialises outside Clara’s home and seconds later the Doctor steps out into the open. He thinks it’s been a week in his time since he last saw her, but in his timeline it’s hard to know. In her time he thinks it’s only been two days.

Her front door looms in front of him as his legs carry him forwards and he pauses outside with his hand in his pocket. His sonic screwdriver sits at the tips of his fingers, but he thinks better of it and knocks three times on the hard wood of the door. There’s no answer for almost a minute, and then an unfamiliar face appears at the door. A blonde woman in her mid-thirties greets him with a puzzled look that mirrors his own.

“Can I help you?” She queries uncertainly. He wonders if perhaps Clara has a friend over, or whether this woman is some member of her family he’s yet to meet.

“I’m looking for Clara Oswald.” He explains as he cranes his neck to look up the stairs behind the woman. Without his gaze on her face, he neglects to notice the way her expression falls at the mention of her name.

“Clara Oswald hasn’t lived here for at least a year now.” Her tone is a combination of puzzlement and sympathy. It takes the Doctor a beat to register her words.

“What do you mean she hasn’t lived here for at least a year? This is her flat.” There’s a touch of panic in his voice now as he takes a step back to glance up at the building. Definitely Clara’s.

“She was…” The woman hesitates, and the Doctor doesn’t like the look she gets on her face. “Taken away.” She finishes solemnly.

“Taken where?” He bites the words out through gritted teeth. If anything has happened to Clara, if she’s in danger or worse, he knows he won’t be held responsible for his actions.

The blonde doesn’t answer, and the Doctor is about to lose patience with her when she finally opens her mouth to reply. “The Alden Centre.” She gives him a look as though she’s just announced the death of a loved one.

The Doctor’s brow furrows. “What’s the Alden Centre?” He demands sharply. He has his suspicions, but he’s not going to jump to conclusions until he knows for certain. Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound good.

“It’s… a psychiatric facility.” She shuffles backwards as though she expects him to lash out at her. “I’m so sorry.” He thinks that she can keep her empty apologies.

“Where is this place?” It’s another demand that’s even sharper than the last. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he needs to find Clara and get her out of whatever cage they’ve locked her in.

“It’s-,” The woman hesitates, clearly unnerved by the Doctor’s suddenly irate demeanour. “Five minutes around the corner. I could drive you if you-,” He doesn’t hear what else she has to say before he’s striding back towards the TARDIS. Rudeness isn’t commonplace with the Doctor without warrant, but he’s too busy beating himself up on the inside to care.

When he’s inside the TARDIS, he strides over to the console and plugs the destination into the navigation system. Somehow the ship knows to get him where he wants to be this time, because when he steps out he’s faced with a large, clinical looking sign reading ‘The Alden Centre.’ He locks the TARDIS and strides up to the front of the building.

The glass doors collide with the walls on either side of the entrance with a loud ‘crash’ as he bursts into the white-walled reception room. “Clara!” He yells and glances around frantically. It’s seconds later when he’s approached by a panicked looking member of staff.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?” She asks as she peers up at him.

“I need to find Clara Oswald.” He states bluntly.

“I’m afraid visiting hours aren’t until 4, sir.” She shies away from the way his expression darkens.

“And I’m afraid I don’t care.” His voice is a low warning growl, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way her hand reaches for the communicator on her belt. If he’d been in any rational state of mind, he might have taken more care to avoid coming across as insane in the middle of a building built to contain insanity.

“Sir-,” He cuts her off with a flash of his psychic paper. Her expression turns curious as she eyes the sheet of paper in front of her, and then she seems to relent. “No one told me we were due an inspection…” She remarks with slight confusion. “Then again, no one ever tells me anything.” He hears her mutter begrudgingly under her breath.

“Well? Are you going to take me where I need to be or not?” The young woman doesn’t need telling twice, and after a brief moment of hesitation she’s leading him through one of the doors that come off of the reception area.

On the other side is a narrow hallway with rows of doors on either side. The windows in each one are made of thick glass with rows of bars fixed on the inside for good measure. The thought of Clara sat locked away in one of these causes another wave of guilt to wash over him. If he hadn’t lied and abandoned her, there was no way she’d be trapped in a building for the clinically insane.

Eventually, they come to the end of the corridor and hover outside another door. There’s a key pad on the wall to the right and the woman plugs in a few numbers to open the thick steel. Inside are three more doors, each strong and sturdy with no window. He stares on in anger when he reads Clara’s name on a clipboard on the wall beside the middle door.

“Open this door.” He barks loudly. “Now.”

“You’ll have to get clearance before you’re allowed inside. She can be a bit… feisty.” The Doctor shoots her a scowl that causes her skin to pale by several shades.

“This is my clearance.” He states and tugs his sonic screwdriver free from his pocket. The device is pointed aggressively at the door in front of him and the lock bursts free. The woman can only stare on in shock, but the Doctor couldn’t have cared less about the protocols of somewhere that had deemed it fit to lock Clara up.  
When he steps inside, his eyes instantly settle on the petite body huddled in the corner of her bed on the other side of her room. She’s skinny, painfully so, and there are bags under her eyes from lack of sleep – eyes that watch him as wide as saucers as he takes a hesitant step towards her.

“Clara?” He asks, and his voice breaks halfway through her name. It’s killing him inside to know that his disappearance is probably the reason she’s ended up in such a state. How could he let this happen?

She doesn’t respond. He doesn’t expect her to. Those wide eyes follow him as he crosses the room towards her, but she doesn’t shy away. She sits still when he reaches for her and doesn’t fight him when he lifts her up into his strong, wiry arms. “My Clara…” He whispers as he clutches her to his chest. There are tears in his eyes but he can’t bring himself to care. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He swallows down the lump in his throat. “I’m going to bring you back, okay? Whatever it takes.” He presses his lips to the top of her head, and t’s a promise – because that’s what love is.


	8. Now is Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What about an AU prompt with either Twelve or Clara being a tattoo artist and the other being the owner of a flower shop next door?

It’s with a sense of pride that Clara steps back and admires the front of her new shop. ‘Roses are red’ is scrawled in cursive across the large sign on the front and buckets of flowers are arranged on either side of the shop door. Inside the window are displays of floral arrangements and the rest of the shop is brimming with flowers of every description. The counter on which she works is situated at the back of the shop and there’s a till perched on one end. It’s small and far from perfect, but it’s hers.

It’s too late in the day to open for business now, but tomorrow morning she’ll be opening her doors for the first time. Clara can only hope that there’ll be enough interest in her flowers to keep the shop thriving for many years to come.

She’s still lost in her thoughts as she admires her handiwork when a voice sounds from somewhere off to her left. “Nice place.” The accent is distinctly Scottish. She glances to the side and spots a tall grey-haired man dressed in dark coloured jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt. His arms are smattered with tattoos and his hair is tousled in a way that makes him look like he only has to get out of bed in the morning to look sexy.

“Thanks. Tomorrow’s the big day.” She answers with a warm smile. He takes a moment to allow his eyes to travel over her and she feels herself blushing under the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m sure you’ll be a hit.” He responds with a lopsided smile of his own. “I own the tattoo parlour next door.” It’s an explanation she thinks she shouldn’t have needed really. The tattoos along his arms are enough of a giveaway, but she doesn’t like to jump to conclusions.

“Have you been here long?” It’s small talk at its finest. Something about him throws her a little off guard. Not in a bad way of course, he doesn’t look like the sort of character to bring her to any harm, but in a way that makes her very briefly consider getting a tattoo for the sake of having a reason to chat with him further. Then she realises just how much of an idiot she’d look and casts the idea aside as completely idiotic. Somehow this older man manages to pull off the various designs littering his arms effortlessly. She wishes she could take the time to look closer at them – it’s clear that each one has a different meaning behind it. The blue police box is the one that draws her eye the most.

“Twenty years now.” He catches her staring at his arm and smiles. “That’s my favourite one.” He remarks and points to the police box she’d just been staring at. Clara’s embarrassed to have been caught staring, but she’s glad he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Is there a story behind them all? Or did you just get them because you fancied it at the time?” She asks and hopes he doesn’t find her curiosity bothersome.

“There’s meaning behind every last one of them, but I’d keep you here all night if I went into that now.” It’s something she probably wouldn’t complain about, Clara thinks to herself in response. There’s certainly something enticing about the tattooed man in front of her.

“Dinner.” She blurts out after a moment. Her gaze had drifted back to her shop window, but now it’s settled on his face again. He raises one thick silver eyebrow in question and she smiles and elaborates; “Let’s have dinner.” It’s a bold move, but she decides to take a chance.

“Now?” There’s slight disbelief in his tone; as though he can’t quite believe that she’d want to ask him to dinner in the first place. She supposes it’s not a common occurrence for women as young as her to ask out men as old as him, but Clara’s always had a thing for silver foxes.

“Now… later… whenever you’re free.” She watches him as he seems to mull the idea over for several moments. There’s a brief few seconds during which she thinks he might say no, but then he turns to her with the ghost of a grin.

“Now is good.” There’s a moment of hesitation, before he slowly extends a hand towards her. It’s forward, and normally she would have told him to keep his hands to himself, but something about him has her reaching out to slide her hand into his. His fingers are long and slim in contrast to her shorter ones. His palms are bigger too, and his skin is more worn. Somehow their hands seem to fit together regardless.

“I didn’t catch your name.” He states after a moment of walking.

“Clara. Clara Oswald.” She answers with a glance up at him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Clara Oswald. I’m the Doctor.”


End file.
